Chapter Text
iwaizumi had fallen in love with you long ago, when the world seemed slower and the little things seemed far too important. he fell in love with you when midnight drives included sneaking you out of your house and seemed like the greatest of all risks. he fell in love with you when, early in the morning before school started, you’d allow him to whisper into your ear so no one could hear the bits of adoration that dripped from his tongue—for no one’s ears but your own.
and now, standing between your legs as you sit on the counter, late-night tea brewing beside you as dusk sets in through the windows that lay in your kitchen, the smell of chamomile drifting into the air and swirling between the two of you, he falls in love with you all over again.
“do you remember the night oikawa called us crying over his ex?” you say, thoughtful in your tone, a little wistful for younger days. iwaizumi traces his fingers over your thighs as you speak, humming a little in reply as he thinks back.
“the first, second, or third time?” he asks, and you laugh, bowing your head towards him with the movement.
“it was actually the fourth, i believe.”
“how could i forget the fourth?” he replies, catching the way his lips quirk into a smile as he looks at you.
he knows you both look a little older now, not nearly as young as your high school days, but you’ve managed to stay beautiful over all these years—the same laughter, the same smile, the same look in your eyes whenever he says something particularly amusing.
“he managed to cancel our date,” you say, and though both of you had been a little bitter at the time, it’s a rather fond memory now—driving to oikawa’s house with whatever take out you could find that he’d enjoy, putting a movie on and hoping that would stop him from whining. he’d fallen asleep about halfway through, and so you both snuck out to sit on the hood of iwaizumi’s car and watch the stars on the hill near oikawa’s house.
and though he thought you looked pretty then, though he was entirely in love with you under those stars and in that shred of midnight, he thinks he prefers what’s in front of him now—in his own home, wearing clothes you’ve stolen from him, years sitting between the two of you that he wouldn’t take back for anything.
and so without a thought, he raises a hand to your jaw and pulls you into him—gently, of course, always gently—and kisses you. and god, aren’t you sweet—the taste of the graham crackers you’d insisted on having with your tea on your lips. and you’re smiling, he can feel it, smiling against him like you always have, even after all these years.
and when he pulls away, it’s only his lips, because he leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, breathing in the moment.
“feeling nostalgic?” you breathe against him, and he huffs a bit of laughter, shaking his head against yours.
“no,” he says, “grateful, i think."